


Just a social construct

by queerly_it_is



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I really was kidding," Danny says. It'd be more of a put-down if it wasn't said against Stiles' mouth, if his hands weren't on Stiles' hips while Stiles just sort of twitches against the wall he's being pressed into.</p>
<p>He mumbles back, "I really wasn't," trying to get Danny to use more tongue. Stiles is maybe already a little addicted to Danny's tongue. It's a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a social construct

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the preview of 3x04 on tumblr and now reposted here :D

"I really was kidding," Danny says. It'd be more of a put-down if it wasn't said against Stiles' mouth, if his hands weren't on Stiles' hips while Stiles just sort of twitches against the wall he's being pressed into.

He mumbles back, "I really _wasn't_ ," trying to get Danny to use more tongue. Stiles is maybe already a little addicted to Danny's tongue. It's a problem.

Danny huffs a laugh through his nose, and his fingers span wider on the skin under Stiles' shirt, warm and strong and Stiles is sure his spine's melting, if not for the--

"We might be on a clock," his mouth says instead of doing better things. Like examining Danny's tonsils.

Yeah. If not for that.

"Relax." Danny's hands stroke up his sides and back down again, and it's actually sort of soothing. "It doesn't exactly get easier if you tense up."

Stiles nods, a little jerkily. "I know," he says, kisses Danny again, quick but softer, like an apology. A nervous apology. "But, y'know, there's a lotta dead virgins and I really--"

Danny kisses him, slow and so focused Stiles thinks it'll scorch the wall behind his head. He licks Stiles' mouth open, shifts the smooth wet of his lips over Stiles', crowding close enough the bare few breaths Stiles takes in all smell like Armani and clean sweat.

He's in a lot of jittery virgin pieces when Danny pulls back enough to look him in the eye.

"The whole point is to enjoy it," he says, slowly like he wants it to sink in. Heh, sinking in. "We'll find something that shuts your brain off, okay?"

"You keep a sledgehammer in your bedroom?"

Danny snorts. "I'm taking the typical Stiles attempts at deflection as a good sign. Just... try to breathe, and enjoy yourself."

"I'd probably enjoy it more with less clothes," he says, and Danny's grin is 300% dimple.

Stiles takes the stairs three at a time.

| |

He's seen Danny naked - or close to naked - more times than he has fingers and toes, but this is so not the same thing. This isn't a locker room that reeks of teenage boy with brain-dead jocks rat-tailing each other in the corner. It's Danny's bedroom, which is big and warm and wood-floored, made more inviting by the glow of the lamp set near the bed.

Not to mention the pull of muscle under Danny's skin when he strips his shirt off, or the clink of his belt while he leads Stiles inside.

"It's a two man show," Danny says, glancing at Stiles' chest until he flails his way out of his shirt, then goes back to tugging off his own jeans.

Stiles is down to shorts and socks and feeling a little like the scrawniest duckling at the pond when Danny touches him again. It's weird, sort of, bare skin on his like that, or maybe it's just knowing how much further it's gonna go.

"You okay there?" Danny asks, light in a way that has to be on purpose, kissing Stiles on the jaw and curving an arm around him so his hand is on Stiles' back. Again it's like the comfort seep into him, spreads out.

He nods. "Yeah. Yeah I'm-- I'm getting there."

"Good," Danny murmurs, his lips in the hollow behind Stiles' ear, hand moving up between his shoulder blades. "No hurry."

"Right. No hurry," Stiles echoes with a deep breath. He turns into the warmth of Danny's body, laughs a little bit. "Bet you wish you'd shut the door in my face now, huh?"

Danny's got both hands on Stiles' skin, one on his back and the other stroking a thumb over his hip. He pulls his head back enough to give Stiles a measured look, a few undemolished stories of a smile left sitting at the borders of his mouth.

"Not so much, no."

| |

Stiles learns three things in short order.

He learns that Danny likes being underneath when he's got someone in his bed, to the point that he pulls Stiles on top of him from where they're leaning into each other on their sides, kissing slower and wetter with a tempo like a clock winding down.

He learns that if Danny knits the fingers of their hands together while his free one rummages through the bedside drawer for lube and a condom, then Stiles feels less like he’s going to turn to vapor and slide through the cracked-open window; like he’s connected to his body because Danny’s touching it.

And he learns that he shouldn’t assume who bottoms just ‘cause Danny’s bigger and hotter than him, or well, has the slightest idea what they’re doing that’s not in the I-learned-this-from-porn sense.

“You want me to…” he asks, trailing off, mainly because he’s kneeling on the bed between Danny’s spread legs, watching him slide a finger into himself.

Danny smiles, sort of lopsided since it turns into a moan when he twists his wrist.

“S’okay,” he says, his toes clenching in the sheets. Stiles puts a hand on his ankle and runs it up to his shin, repeats it until Danny’s legs stop trembling, because contact’s part of the point, yeah? Danny smirks and a dimple creases his cheek. “I got this. Since we’re on a clock and everything.”

The laugh bubbles out of Stiles’ throat and pops in the air between them. He’d honestly stopped thinking about that, which, huh. Cool.

“Fuck,” Danny whispers, and then Stiles is leaning, swaying forward and it’s so much hotter than he would’ve let himself think, watching the way Danny’s finger crooks into his body, the shine of lube in the lamplight, the way Danny bites at his lip and his cock twitches on his belly, more shine there at the head where he’s leaking a little.

“You uh. I mean. Wow”

Danny groans through his laugh as he works in a second finger, the slick sound of lube between his fingers stupidly making Stiles’ face flush a little hotter, like his body’s lagging that far behind his brain.

Stiles takes to mirroring the movement of his hand on Danny’s leg with his free one too, since it’s either that or clench them into fists on his own thighs so he doesn’t touch his dick. No way does he trust his stamina right

The strong flex of Danny’s arm leading to the stretch of the tendons in his wrist, to the bend of the fingers he’s fucking in and out of his ass is driving Stiles crazy, his heart’s rebounding off the walls of his chest, and he’s so hard his dick’s almost curved up right to his navel.

He makes an involuntary sound when Danny spreads his legs wider and stretches himself on a third finger, and he’d be embarrassed if it didn’t come out half as loud as the one Danny makes.

“Okay,” Danny says, after about a million years of breaking Stiles’ brain. “C’mere.”

Stiles sort of falls forward even while he shuffles on his knees. His breathing’s uneven, racing out ahead too far for him to drag it back under control, and he has to grit his teeth when Danny reaches for the condom.

“Glad I have your size,” Danny says, handing him the packet, and god, if Stiles wasn’t blushing before.

“That was—Shut up.”

Danny laughs and it’s mostly air, shaking his chest as he lies back again. “I won’t ask,” he says, and Stiles’ smile sneaks up on him.

| |

There’s stupid expectation, there’s naïve hope, and there’s the disappointment of reality.

Leaning over Danny’s body and watching his face as Stiles pushes inside him – pushes inside someone for the first time in his life, actually manages to be neither of those three.

It’s better and it isn’t, is all Stiles can come up with. He’s mesmerized by the shift in Danny’s expression, the tight grip of him around Stiles’ dick that seems to squeeze all the way up his spine to the base of his neck, covers his skin in a coat of gooseflesh and sweat; and then at the same time he can feel his arm trembling trying to hold his weight, and the way his knees are still protesting being folded up under him for the whole of watching Danny prep himself.

He’d laugh at the realization that what’s tripping him up is that this is all actually _happening_ , that the physical _realness_ is what’s throwing him off, but he’s shuddering as he slides the rest of the way into Danny’s body, and there’s red steam diffusing through the spaces in his head, and he really can’t think much of anything after that.

Danny guides him a little, keeps a hand curved onto the back of Stiles’ thigh and keeps him from outpacing either of them. He moans with his head pressed back into the pillow when Stiles finally figures out the angle after a few awkward shifts. Stiles balances his weight between his hand on the sheets and his knees, and follows a bead of sweat down Danny’s neck with his lips, his tongue.

“Stiles,” Danny groans, bringing his legs in so they’re not quite around Stiles’ waist, but bracketing him, urging him closer. “Stiles c’mon, you can—fuck, _harder_.”

Stiles is shaking – rattling really, quaking in the firmament of his bone marrow, sweat tumbling from his hairline to his temples to his jaw, falling down onto Danny’s skin. And he’s sliding out far enough to make Danny moan in his throat before he fucks in again, grinding his hips against Danny’s ass once he figures out that it makes Danny’s cock twitch and leak onto his stomach.

Time doesn’t stop, or slow down, because it doesn’t exist. There is no time in the scolding bubble they’re sealed in, no sound from outside, everything full of Danny’s moans and shaky breathing and the small grunts Stiles can just about tell are coming from him.

When Danny goes to jerk himself off, his hand leaving Stiles’ hip, Stiles gets there first. He leans back on his knees as he grinds into Danny’s body, and wraps his fingers around Danny’s dick.

It’s not coordinated, but it’s enough. Stiles strokes him quick and with a tight grip against the head, sliding through precome and the lube from the condom and the sweat from his palm, Danny’s hips bucking and his ass clenching on Stiles enough to make Stiles bite the inside of his cheek.

Danny comes with a shattered groan, long and spilled between his teeth on a hiss, and he grips down on Stiles, flutters around him like he’s pulling at him. Come slicks between Stiles’ fingers and lands on Danny’s chest, stark on the colour of his skin, starker than the pale stretch of Stiles’ body over his.

Stiles mashes an, “Oh my god,” between his molars and falls over the edge into coming, clenching his toes hard enough they almost go numb, barely stopping from collapsing onto Danny. He can feel the warm spread of come inside the condom, hotter even than the grip of Danny’s body around him. His eyes roll half into his head, and there’s a white noise peal of a bell jangling in his ears, air forcing out of his chest in a rush.

Between the blackouts of his thinking and the fuzziness in his eyes, Stiles can see the washout of pleasure on Danny’s face, and his eyes focused on Stiles’.

| |

Danny really was kidding about the cuddling. Well. Sort of.

“This doesn’t count,” he mumbles into the skin of Stiles’ shoulder. It marks the first thing either of them has managed to say after they got rid of the condom and Danny grabbed a washcloth.

Stiles garbles out an incoherent noise, puts his palm on Danny’s chest and pats it there, like placation or agreement or something else, and feels Danny’s mouth shape into a smile.

They’re a deadfall of crooked limbs and overloaded nerves, sprawled against each other in the middle of Danny’s bed, the damp sheets kicked down towards the end. Stiles plans to move on the eve of never.

“I mean it,” he says after a few syrupy seconds, and Stiles can feel his chest twitching against his hand, like he’s swallowing a laugh.

Stiles pats his chest again, a little harder, and when Danny cranes his neck to stamp his smile onto the one Stiles is already wearing, the laugh escapes between them.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Just a social construct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/952710) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




End file.
